


One That Never Ends

by APgeeksout



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: 5+1 Things, Comforting touch, Episode Tag, Hair Washing, M/M, Massage, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Taking Care of Someone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 04:14:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16926324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/APgeeksout/pseuds/APgeeksout
Summary: 5 times Roman lays hands on his boys + 1 when they return the favor.





	One That Never Ends

**Author's Note:**

> Began as a fill for this prompt about Roman’s hands at the wrestling kinkmeme. Covers the “taking care of someone” square on my Round 9 card for Hurt/Comfort Bingo.

**_May 2017_ **

"Missed this," he says, a little breathless, and rolls his hips again, pressing sweet and slow into Seth. It's not that they actually managed to keep away from each other in all that time apart, but this is different from harsh, furious handjobs in random storage closets, stolen moments rubbing off on each other while trading bites and insults both meant to leave bruises. This - Seth's eyes open and warm and drinking Roman up, lingering touches on bare skin, long limbs stretched out lazy and luxurious in a soft bed, slow thorough kisses that taste faintly of donut glaze - they really haven't done in a long damn time. "Missed you." 

Seth gives a little gasp beneath him, tips his head back and flings an arm up to cover his eyes, throat working as he arches up into him. Roman feels a swell of pride and affection at the evidence that he still remembers how to give it to him this good, and at the way Seth basks in his place in his arms and his bed and his heart. Feels something else achy and awed when he moves Seth's hand to gently pin it above his head and finds his lashes wet, a glittering track running down the side of his face and disappearing into his hairline. He traces a fingertip along the path. 

"You missed me, too," he whispers, and it's not a question, but Seth nods an answer anyway, and turns a damp cheek into his palm, like he finally knows that in Roman's hands is where he's supposed to be.

* * *

**_December 2017_ **

The fuzzed-out, floaty feeling isn't new. Been a while, though. Hasn't let himself get out of his head like this for years. Hasn't needed to. 

Probably better, right now, to be bumping along the ceiling like a balloon whose string somebody forgot to hang onto, than to be locked tight into his bones and blood body, tethered to an IV and the dead weight of at least one mangled limb. 

It's cold, though. He feels himself shiver from a long way away. 

Words swirl up toward him from the same distance. He only catches snatches before they dissolve into the haze: _think he's coming around_ and _Dean-o_ and _rest easy, babe_.

The shiver doesn't stop. Gets sharper. Or maybe he just gets closer to it, dragged inevitably back into himself. Feels dulled and heavy and stupid. Knows there's pain waiting to sink needle teeth into him on the other side of the fog-bank. 

Ain't there always?

There's also pressure, warmth. A big, steady hand rubbing slow and easy along his not-busted arm. Chasing away the chill. He cracks his eyes open with serious effort, and there's Roman. Leaning close, smiling soft.

"There's my favorite shade of blue," he says. Probably says some other stuff, too. Dean's focus can only stretch far enough to cover one thing at a time. 

For now, he chooses the warm hand that gently frames his face, temple to jaw.

* * *

**_February 19, 2018_**

"You really don't have to help," Seth says, even as the gentle pressure of Roman's fingers threading into his wet hair makes him shiver in spite of the hot water needling down onto his chest. "I can do it myself."

"I know, little brother." Roman pushes his hair to one side and drops a kiss onto the skin he’s uncovered, just behind his ear, where the prickle of his beard against his skin makes Seth shudder again. That just makes Roman chuckle, a soft rumble and a burst of hot breath against damp, sensitive skin, a vicious cycle that leaves Seth trembly and achy and intensely aware of Roman and every place they’re not quite touching yet.

"Everybody knows it.” Roman continues, and steps in closer, one hand still buried in his hair, the other settling to span his ribs and stroke down his side. “You just wrestled for an hour and then-some. You can do anything you want." 

Seth takes as steady a breath as he can, with exertion and emotion both catching up to him at once, and leans back, trusting his guy to support him if the trembling muscles of his thighs give up on the job. Roman is solid and steadfast behind him and kisses his neck again, teasing and ticklish, then hooks his chin over his shoulder. Roman’s hand curves against his hip, strong and tender and warmer, somehow, than the water that sluices over them both.

He wants the same thing he’s wanted since the beginning, the thing he’s only just started to feel like he’s earned the right to ask for again. 

“I think I want-” he stops, and swallows at the cool drizzle of citrusy shower gel that hits his chest, at the feel of Roman’s hands shifting to spread fresh lather first over his heart and then out, onto all the other worn-out and still unclean parts of him. “I want to let you take care of me,” he finally finishes, in a voice that he doesn’t think will carry over the water.

“Hoped you’d feel that way,” Roman says just as softly, and keeps on laying hands on him.

* * *

**_August 13, 2018_ **

"You really here?" Roman asks, his arm curling tighter around Dean's shoulders, the fingers of his other hand riffling through the cropped length of his remaining hair. "I'm not having some kind of weird-ass coma dream?"

He chuckles a little at that, and steps a little further into the space between Roman's knees and leans into the big man's shoulder and lets himself be squeezed and petted, a little down-payment on all the time they have to make up for. 

"Nah, no way," he scoffs, drumming his knuckles against the surface of the trainers' exam table where Roman still sits. "I mean, even if you had got rocked that hard, you'd have dreamed us into someplace more interesting, right? At least put Seth in a candystriper's uniform to brighten the place up or something." 

It's Roman's turn to laugh, and he does, way harder than the image of Seth in a candy-cane pinafore really deserves. Then he pulls back, just far enough to rest his hands on his shoulders, mapping out the thicker layer of muscle there, and looks down at him. His eyes are bloodshot and the skin around them is puffy and red from the mace and rubbing and eyedrops and, maybe, from whatever makes his voice creak when he says, "I missed you, babe."

"I kinda hoped you'd think I was a sight for sore eyes," he admits, and takes half a step back, opening up some room for Roman to ease down from the table, "but I didn't mean it, like, literally."

Roman groans appreciatively and reels him in close again, his cheek hot where it presses against the side of Dean's neck. 

"I even missed your jokes," Roman murmurs, and his hands move over him again to finally twist urgently into his shirt at the base of his neck and the small of his back, holding tight enough that he couldn't leave again even if he wanted to.

* * *

**_September 3, 2018_**

"Pretty sure that's all the glass." Roman sets aside the tweezers and takes the room's little bar of free soap to work some lather up in his hands. "This part's probably gonna sting, too," he says regretfully, and smooths a thin layer of suds over the network of shallow cuts on Seth's arm. 

His breath comes in a hiss, startled out of him with the sudden burn that comes with contact to his broken skin, but he shakes his head and tries out a reassuring smile in response to Roman's look of concern. "I'll live," he says, and leans his body lightly into Roman's while they both shift closer to the sink to rinse away the soap with warm water from the tap.

"You better." Roman hands him a clean towel to pat dry with while he sifts through the first aid kit for ointment and bandages.

It's his left side that's the most banged-up, the meat of his arm above his elbow, not too awkward to reach with his dominant hand. He could easily patch it up himself - wouldn't be the first time, probably not the last, either - but Roman has been intent and hovering all night, at least when he wasn’t being actively held back from them by handcuffs or by half the roster, and it's not like Seth has ever minded having his hands on him, so he sits still and lets Roman's sure fingers smear salve onto his skin and arrange a sterile bandage on top and wrap the whole thing in a layer of gauze. 

"Feel okay?" he asks, smoothing down a loose edge and then stroking a warm hand down the length of Seth’s arm.

"Good as new." He makes a fist and strikes a tough guy pose to drive home his point. 

Roman just shakes his head at him and cups his free hand around the back of his neck and tugs him closer to press a kiss to his temple. The hand against his neck stays there as Roman kills the bathroom lights and steers him out into the bedroom where Dean is already sprawled out on his belly in the center of the king-size bed.

He doesn't know how Roman did it, but he'd talked Dean into taking a painkiller, and between the pill and a hot shower and the long night just behind them, Dean's edges are dull and his eyelids heavy when Seth settles onto the mattress beside him. He can’t resist rubbing a stroke over the side of his head, still unused to the soft, neat fuzz under his fingers. 

“Y’good?” Dean slurs against the pillow, blinking owlishly at him.

"I'm okay. Tired," he adds, suddenly feeling how true it is as he sinks into the bedding. "You?" 

Dean murmurs something that's not quite words into his pillow, and Seth just ruffles softly over his hair until his eyes slide shut again. Then the mattress dips and Roman’s there, sitting at Dean’s other side with a dollop of IcyHot on his fingertips. Seth watches drowsily as he spreads it over the skin of Dean’s bum shoulder and works it into the muscle there with strong, tender pressure. Dean makes a soft sound in the back of his throat - one of those gentle noises only Roman's hands seem to be able to wring out of him - and shifts closer, sleepy warmth radiating from him into Seth's own bruised skin.

Seth’s not sure how much later it is when he drifts back to consciousness, but the room is dark and warm and peaceful around him. Dean doesn't seem to have stirred at all, and he breathes steady under the arms Roman and Seth have draped across his sleeping shape from either side. Roman’s hand is curled loosely around his wrist, a light, welcome weight where their hands meet in the hollow of Dean's spine.

* * *

**_October 6, 2018_**

“Take a load off,” Dean suggests. He and Seth are each tucked under one of Roman’s arms, bearing up some of his weight, and they bend in unison to help him lower his tired ass onto the locker room bench. 

He settles down with a little groan that he doesn’t do quite enough to stifle, if the way Seth reaches out to rub the back of his neck with his free hand is anything to go by. Seth moves away to round the bench, setting their titles down on the end as he passes, red and white leather curled together safely out of the way, and then comes to stand behind him and turns his attention to Roman's sweaty hair, gathering it back from his face and up into a loose knot.

“How’re you feelin’?” Seth asks, careful fingers unsnarling a tangle. 

Dean has hit the floor at his feet and pulled one boot up into his lap to worry at the laces, but his hands go still when he tips his face up to study him, waiting for his answer. 

“Like I speared myself through the barricade,” he says honestly. 

Dean gives him a grimace that he feels mirrored on his own face. "Thanks for that, by the way."

"What?" He chuckles and instantly regrets the way it makes his ribs throb in a whole new rhythm than the one he'd almost gotten used to. "I was gonna let him bulldoze my boy if there was any way I could stop it? Not a chance."

Dean breaks eye contact at that, but only to tilt forward and nuzzle his cheek against his knee. He takes the opportunity to rub a hand over the top of his head, still a habit and a comfort even though only a few locks of his hair are long enough now to ruffle up.

Seth leans into his line of sight, smiling softly at them both, and reaches around his middle to unfasten the straps that hold his vest closed. He lets himself sag a little into Seth's body, and earns a tentative hug, little brother’s arms wrapping around his shoulders with a lot less force than he’s used to after a victory. He reaches up to squeeze at Seth’s forearm where it crosses his chest, the gesture a silent _I’m okay; it’ll take more than that to put me down_ that Seth acknowledges by resting a cheek on his hair for a beat.

After a moment, Seth straightens up, and Dean shifts to tug his boot over his heel and snake one warm hand up the leg of his pants to massage the muscle of his calf. He takes his hands off of them both in order to shrug out of the vest and peel down the straps of his undershirt.

Seth steps close again, first a soft touch to each shoulder, then strong fingers kneading fiercely into the knots at the base of his neck, and he leans back into the pressure and lets himself drift for a while under his boys’ hands.

Something in Dean’s face pulls tight as his eyes drift over his bare chest, taking inventory of the fresh bruises coloring up there and tallying up the beating someone’s owed for them. Roman doesn’t try to stop him - he knows he’ll be writing up a similar tab later on, when he gets to look over his boys and their damage - but he reaches out to rub at the tense line of his jaw, realizing suddenly that his own Superman punch has probably left a mark there. 

Dean shakes his head at him, like he’s read the thought the second it crossed his mind, and reaches up to cover Roman’s hand with his own, turning his head to press a bristly kiss into the center of his palm. 

“Thanks, both of you,” he says, scritching through Dean’s beard and tilting his head up to meet Seth’s eyes. 

“What?” Dean chuckles and squeezes his hand tighter. “We weren’t gonna take care of our big dog?”

Seth works the pad of his thumb into an especially tender spot before he echoes, “Not a chance.”


End file.
